Officer Nelson's plump frame is trembling. The verbal lashing is relentless, and he doesn't dare make a sound in his own defense.
The middle-aged man beside the desk is doing the yelling, but Nelson's terror is aimed at the girl sitting calmly in the visitor's chair.
She's sixteen, maybe seventeen, with a striking, cold beauty. An aura of absolute authority radiates from her, freezing the air in the room.
She's not just any Olson descendant.
Whitney Olson belongs to one of the most secretive organizations among human survivors.
Nelson's rank only lets him know it exists, its true nature is a shadow.
He knows one thing for sure, if she decides he's unfit for his post, a single word from her would see him stripped of his residency and thrown beyond the city walls.
"Miss Whitney, I swear, we will spare no effort! We will turn over every stone!" Nelson babbles, mopping sweat from his brow.
His throat is tight with fear. If he can't satisfy her today, he might not leave this office with his career or maybe his life... intact.
A bitter helplessness churns in his gut.
Which suicidal maniacs kidnapped an Olson girl? If you had to do it, why my district? Why drag me into this hell?
"I'll give you two more days," the girl's voice cuts through his thoughts, cold as polished steel. "If there is still no news of my sister, you will submit your resignation. Voluntarily."
Nelson's heart plummets. "Y-yes, Miss Whitney! Absolutely! We will find her!" The words are hollow.
How is he supposed to find a ghost in a city this size? This isn't the old world. There are no cameras on every corner. The girl could be anywhere, or already dead.
He bows and scrambles out of his office, shutting the door. In the hallway, his demeanor shifts instantly.
The fear is packed away, replaced by the bluster of command. He storms up to his detectives.
"Listen up! We have one day! One day to find any scrap of intel on this girl!" He thrusts a photo of Vanessa Olson into their faces. "Fail, and consider your monthly bonuses ash!"
"Chief," one officer tentatively interrupts. "There's a student out front. Wants to report something. Says he saw something in an alleyway—"
"Forget it!" Nelson barks, cutting him off. "Our only priority is this girl! I don't care if that student saw someone planning to blow up his school! It is not our concern right now!"
Do these idiots not grasp the gravity of the situation?
"Chief, I mean…" the officer stammers, wiping his own nervous sweat. "The student says he saw a group of men kidnapping this girl." He points directly at the photo in Nelson's hand.
Nelson's blood runs cold, then hot. "What?!" He lunges forward, grabbing the officer by his collar, his face inches away. "You incompetent fool! Why didn't you lead with that?! Where is he? Take me to him. Now!"
---
Bertram is pacing in the bland interview room.
He came straight here, told an officer everything, the alley, the black robes, the girl's fine clothes, the scar-faced leader.
Midway through his statement, the officer got a call and just… left. Walked out.
Are you kidding me?
Bertram fumes internally. What could possibly be more urgent than the Olson heiress being kidnapped? Do you people want to keep your jobs?
The door flies open.
A man barges in, round and greasy, his face flushed.
He looks Bertram up and down, a flash of desperate hope in his piggy eyes. Then his expression smooths into an official mask of stern seriousness.
He slaps a photograph down on the table between them.
"Can you confirm," the fat man grunts, dropping heavily into the chair opposite Bertram, "if this is the girl you saw?"
He shoves the photograph across the table.
Bertram glances down.
It's her. Vanessa Olson.
The girl from the alley. So the police already know she's missing. Good. That saves him a lot of awkward explaining.
"Yes. That's her," Bertram says, his voice firm. "I saw a group of men in black robes kidnapping her last night."
Officer Nelson's chubby hands shoot out and clamp around Bertram's wrists. His eyes are wide, shining with a desperate, almost manic relief. "Kid! You… you're my savior!"
Bertram blinks, taken aback by the intensity. Why is this guy so emotional?
A junior officer standing by the door clears his throat. "This is Chief Nelson, young man."
Bertram's eyebrows rise.
The station chief?
This guy runs the biggest precinct in the sector. He holds real power in the city. And he's acting like Bertram just pulled him from a burning building.
The sheer terror the Olson Family inspires is staggering. But it's perfect. It's exactly the leverage Bertram needs.
"Chief," Bertram continues, laying it on thick. "It was around 7 PM. In the alley off Fuyuan Street, number 5. The leader had a scar, right here." He points to his own cheekbone. "I overheard them talking about a meeting place… but the details are fuzzy…" He trails off, pretending to struggle with the memory.
"What?!" Nelson leans forward, his jowls quivering. He'd hoped for a vague description, maybe a direction. This is a goldmine.
"Try to remember, son," Nelson urges, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Where were they meeting?"
"Oh!" Bertram snaps his fingers, as if it just came to him. "Right! An abandoned power plant. They called it the 'Azure Blue' plant."
Nelson stares, stunned. This isn't just a witness, he's not just getting a lead, he's getting the entire map.
The crushing weight of the Olson Family's deadline lifts slightly. There's a chance. A real chance to pull this off and save his own neck.
"Kid," Nelson says, a genuine, if shaky, smile on his face. "You are the informant of the year."
He composes himself, his official demeanor slamming back into place. "Ahem. Right. We have received your critical information. The department will act swiftly. For your own safety, given the severity of this case, we will be placing you in a secure holding room during the operation. For protection."
Those kidnappers almost cost him everything.
They will pay.
Isolating the informant is standard procedure, it protects the source and, more importantly for Nelson right now, ensures no one tips off the targets before his officers can move.